Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction / Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Gotta Knock a Little Harder ❯ Touch of Grey ( Chapter 7 )

Touch of Grey

 

The shoe is on the hand it fits; There's really nothing much to it; Whistle through your teeth and spit; cause it's all right. ~ Grateful Dead (In the Dark)

 

Jet entered the bridge of the ship with two cups of coffee. McKenna was staring out the huge ports, smoking a cigarette and watching the sun come up. Silhouetted like that, she looked so much smaller and more vulnerable than when he originally saw her.

 

She'd spent the entire night telling him her story. At times the logical part of his mind rejected what it was hearing and he had to make her repeat something. Other times, he was struck with an overwhelming sense of awe, or horror. If we weren't right here, right now, he thought. I would wonder about her sanity.

 

“Time became meaningless,” she said when he asked her just how long she'd been alive. “I've jumped forward and backward, and across the bridge so many times, I couldn't tell you with any accuracy. I estimate about 800 years, though.”

 

He joined her at the port, and she smiled. As he handed her a cup of steaming coffee, he attempted to lighten the mood. “So, in all your travels, did you ever learn the answer to `The Great Question'?”

 

“You mean the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“Yes.” She took a sip of her coffee, and looked like she was going to leave it at that.

 

Jet waited, looking at her expectantly.

 

She said, “The answer is… Forty-two.*”

 

“Huh?!”

 

She snickered into her coffee. Jet didn't get the joke.

 

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and the mischief was tugging at her lips. “Of course, if you're Discordian, the answer would be twenty-three.**”

 

He rubbed at the back of his neck, and shook his head. “Now I'm confused.”

 

She winked and smiled brightly. “Now you're learning.”

 

Jet chuckled.

 

The silence between them had grown very comfortable, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him to wrap an arm about her slender waist. She quite easily wrapped her own arm around his.

 

 

[1.1.1.1]

 

 

Spike limped out without a cane in the morning. He settled for a shady spot near the house and started his daily routine. The leg was still sore, and had stiffened up with the favoring he'd given it, but he was determined to work the kinks out. It took some convincing for Pinako to let him do this, but he was healing up very quickly. He had no idea what that disgusting smelling stuff was that she was using on him, but it was a damn sight better than anything he'd found before. He made a mental note to try and talk her out of a jar of it to take home with him. If we get home, he thought, and hesitated in his routine.

 

The weight of the injured leg being held straight out and steady was making him sweat, but the pain felt good.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ed watching. He acknowledged him with a nod, and went on with his routine. Next thing he knew, Ed was shadowing his every move. He's doing a damn good job, too, Spike thought. The kid pays attention, at least.

 

Before long, Al had joined them, and the sight of the armor moving just as gracefully as Ed and himself were caused Spike to lose his concentration for a moment. He stumbled slightly, then recovered quickly.

 

He smiled, and got back into the rhythm. The sound of the metal from Al and Ed in the rhythm he was working was actually making it easy for him.

 

With the routine over, Spike flopped gracelessly on the ground under a tree. He mopped the sweat from his brow, and noticed that Ed was doing his own fair share of sweating.

 

“It's a lot harder than it looks, isn't it?” Spike said, as he shook a cigarette from a battered pack he'd squirreled away somewhere in his pants.

 

“Heh. Yeah, it is.”

 

Spike leaned back and smoked in silence, but he noticed that Ed was pulling at the grass, and seemed a little fidgety. “Something on your mind, kid?”

 

The boy's head shot up in surprise. He sighed, and looked back down. “Yeah. I just-- I don't know if we can do it, though.”

 

Spike leaned forward. “I'm listening.”

 

“I think I know where we can get the stones you need to get home.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Brother?” Al said. “You're not thinking…”

 

Ed looked at Al, and nodded. “Lab Five. That's if the Army hasn't moved all the evidence, and equipment, yet.”

 

A fine brow rose, and a slow smile crept across Spike's face. “Do tell.”

 

Ed did.

 

Spike was grinning by the time Ed had finished explaining the incidents at Lab Five, and what they would likely encounter.

 

“Homunculi, Chimera, and Serial Killers. Oh, my!***”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Add in the rogue soldiers, and it sounds just like a night on the town on Tijuana,” Spike said, as he got to his feet.

 

“I'm not sure you understand how dangerous this is,” Ed said.

 

“It's better that way.” Spike limped off toward the Bebop, stopped and looked over his shoulder at Ed and Al. “You coming?”

 

The boys looked at each other, and followed.

 

 

[2.2.2.2]

 

 

Spike was in the Swordfish, upside down, and elbow deep in the control panel of the small craft. His head was down resting against the pedals, and his feet were hanging out of one side of the cockpit. He'd found a small flashlight in his toolkit, and was holding it between his teeth in a vain attempt to illuminate the bowels of the dash. Unfortunately the light was starting to fade, as the batteries died a slow death. He hoped that he could get the last of the wiring repairs down before it went out entirely.

 

Ed had been helping him out by handing him tools, and telling him that he could do the repairs a lot quicker.

 

Spike, however, was somewhat territorial with the Swordfish. There was only one other person he would allow to do any work on her.

 

He took the flashlight out of his mouth, and said, “Okay, hand me that screwdriver again.” He smacked the light against his hand a couple times, and mojoed a little more illumination from it, then shoved it back in his mouth. He blindly held out his hand, waiting to feel the weight of the tool in it.

 

When the wanted tool didn't appear, he peeked out from under the dash, and saw Jet leaning on the edge of the cockpit, instead of Ed.

 

“Care to tell me what you're up to, Spike?”

 

“Not really, no,” Spike said. He pointed at the tool kit on the seat, just out of his reach. “Care to hand me that phillips-head?”

 

Jet made no move to get the tool, and Spike was forced to extricate himself from the tight space he was in, to get it himself.

 

“Need I remind you that we're guests on this planet, and it wouldn't be polite to endanger one of their own? Especially a prodigy?”

 

Spike folded himself back up, and disappeared under the dash again. “Ed is also the only person who can show me where the stuff is we need to get out of here, and can fit in the Swordfish with me.”

 

He slipped with the screwdriver, and jabbed the heel of his other hand. “Shit!”

 

“What are you going to do Spike?” Jet said. “Just casually fly in and ask for the stuff?”

 

Spike shook his hand, and sucked on the wound a moment. He took it out of his mouth, and noticed that no blood was welling up, so went back to finishing what he'd started. “Sure. Why not?”

 

He tightened the final screw on the panel and blindly tossed the screwdriver in the general direction of the toolkit. Jet yelped.

 

Spike unfolded himself from under the dash, and saw Jet rubbing the top of his head with one hand, and the errant screwdriver in the other. The older man was glaring daggers at him. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he said, “Er, sorry.”

 

“Spike, these people don't have air flight, much less space flight. Don't you think this'll attract a little too much attention?”

 

The younger man gracefully bounded up, and repositioned himself upright in the seat. He jammed the key into the ignition, and glanced over at Jet. “From what Ed and Al have been telling me about Alchemy, probably not.” He turned the ignition, and the Swordfish turned over to the first stage. He smiled and rolled it out to the deck, into the sunlight. Jet held on. He caught sight of Ed and Al out of the way, staring in awe, and covering their ears.

 

“Besides,” Spike yelled over the din. “We're going to Central City after dark.”

 

He ordered the wings to unfold, then killed it.

 

He bounded out of the small craft, and started poking around at the ailerons on the tips of the Swordfish's wings. Jet followed him around, not ready to give up the argument, yet.

 

“Look, we're liable to be stuck here for awhile, Spike. I'd like to attract as little attention as possible.”

 

“Then the less time we spend in and around Central City, the better.”

 

Jet rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head. “So can't you just get some really good directions from Ed? Instead of dragging him along?”

 

“My directions would get him as far as Lab Five,” Ed said, as he joined them. “But the inside is a labyrinth.”

 

Jet shook his head. “Why do I get the feeling you two aren't telling me everything?”

 

Spike nodded toward Ed. “I trust him, Jet.”

 

Jet looked shocked for a brief instant, then nodded. “Okay. Just remember, you can't call me to bail your asses out.”

 

“Heh. Do I ever?”

 

 

[3.3.3.3]

 

 

With the cells finally recharged, and the connection fixed, power returned to the Bebop, and the work on the finer repairs proceeded apace.

 

Everyone seemed to find a partner, and worked together. One thing Jet noticed, was that Spike had seemed to take Ed under his wing. And wherever Ed was, Al was not too far away. Considering Spike's feelings toward kids, animals, and women with attitude, this should be shocking, Jet thought. But as he watched them interact, Ed removed his jacket, and he was reminded once again that these were not typical kids. It was sometimes easy to forget that there wasn't actually a body inside the suit of armor. But the gleam of metal that was now Ed's arm brought home the fact that they had gone through Hell and back. Those kids paid a horrible price for a mistake, he thought. He looked down at his own metal hand. Equivalent exchange. I paid a fair price for my stupidity. But did they?

 

Pinako had filled him in on what Ed found too painful to talk about. The boys had lost their mother. Three years ago, they had tried to bring her back using Alchemy. Taboo. A big one. And they'd paid for it with the loss of Al's body, and Ed's limbs, Jet thought. And Ed paid twice. Once for his mother, and once for trying to save his brother. And their journey through Hell isn't over yet.

 

He sighed, and pulled off yet another panel. Maybe it's not that surprising that Spike has taken a liking to the kid, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note:

*Yes, this is indeed a nod to Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It seemed appropriate considering McKenna's `Talent'.

**In Discordianism, the Holy Number is 5, so 23, or 2+3=5.

***And a nod to Frank Baum's Wizard of Oz.

(This whole situation is a bit surreal anyway, don't you think?)